The Butterfly Effect
by Abigail Black
Summary: Fresh from graduation, Alissa Daniels is ready to dedicate her life to fighting for justice. All she has to do is convince her assigned partner that he really does want to be a hero after all. Easy, right?
1. Partnership

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, I don't Sky High.

A/N: Please take the time to review, I'd love to know what you think so far! Also don't worry about the title, I promise Ashton Kutcher wont be making any appearances (thank god!)

One - Partnership

When I was told, way back when I was a freshman, that one day I would be assigned to a hero in order to fight the good fight I couldn't wait. Back then the idea of standing up for justice in a pair of snappy pink spandex (and maybe even a matching cape) sounded like the life for me.

I mean, sure, maybe I wouldn't get to actually be the superhero every kid dreams they're going to be. And maybe that had a lot to do with the fact that I'd made a fool of myself in front of the entire class during Power Placement. I was in hero support, but I was okay with that. More then okay. Less pressure, for one thing. Besides four years is a long time, I'd repressed the memories of Boomer yelling to come back when I'd been bitten by a decent radioactive bug.

But I digress, because right now hero support has become the bane of my existence.

Well, alright, that isn't exactly fair. The bane of my existence isn't my slightly lame power, nor the fact that I've spent my high schooling career learning catchy phrases to shout in times of emergency. No, my bane, the thing that is, even now, seriously damaging my prospects of reaching my next birthday, is standing next to me.

It's also pinching my arm, despite the fact that it's supposed to be eighteen years of age.

"Hey, sidekick, I'm talking to you!"

It's also yelling in my ear. And I think I can hear its crony laughing obnoxiously at me and my misfortune.

Let me explain. Last week I graduated from Sky High. Big reason to celebrate, right? Well, I thought so too… at first. It wasn't until Principal Powers brought out the List and started reminding us all that we had been paired with either a hero or a sidekick, depending on which class we were in, who would join us in our quest to make A Better World, that I realised how much graduation sucked.

Because, you know, I actually had to find out who I was stuck with.

Anyway, so as you might have guessed, I got paired with a total dud, but I was prepared to deal. In hero support we're trained to take the good with the bad… and as soon as I figure out what the good is, I'll be completely ready to handle this bad. Despite the fact that I'd had to spend my entire Saturday tracking down said dud.

"Look," I said, putting my hands on my hips and hoping my voice sounded low and dangerous, "you may not like this arrangement, but there's nothing any of us can do about it. So whatever issues you have, deal with them quietly and just accept that me and you are going to have to fight crime together."

"Well, since you put it that way… no!"

I glared at the creature that I was expected to refer to as my hero. Seriously, immature much?

"Hey, dude," its crony laughed, "what about the costume, don't you get to dress her? I think you're going to need _all_ her measurements for that!"

And they were off. Har-de-ha-ha-ha, man, that cut her so deep.

Yeah, I'm finding it a little hard to get my head around the fact that Principal Powers and the other staff at Sky High expect me to be the support to Lash's hero.

Especially since he didn't even bother to turn up to graduation, hence with the tracking on my part. As it was I'd finally been able to locate Lash – and unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Speed – at Maxville's one and only shopping mall where they'd been terrorising a group of small children. I'd delivered the good news to Lash about ten minutes ago and have, ever since, become their latest target.

"So what's your power, sidekick?" Lash jeered, not bothering to keep his voice down even as an elderly couple strolled past, "Or are you one of those extra-lame losers that don't even _have_ a power?"

I thought this was a bit rude coming from the boy who, after Power Placement, had spent the next six months tripping me up in the hallways because of the stupidness of my power. He could at least have the decency to remember what he'd teased me about.

"At least I never used my power to hurt anyone!" I shot back, "And for your information I _do_ have a power. And it's great!"

Speed suddenly slapped his own forehead. "Man, I remember you," he said to me, a gigantic grin spreading across his face. He turned to Lash and uttered a single word. "Butterflies."

Lash looked puzzled for a moment. Something I had never thought possible because, before now, I hadn't even known he was capable of thinking. "Butterflies?" he repeated, "What, like, she can turn into a butterfly?"

Okay, even though turning into a butterfly sounds completely useless I would like to point out that it is probably better then what I can actually do. At least if you were a butterfly you could escape from dangerous situations with ease.

Unfortunately realisation dawned on Lash. He smirked. Evilly.

"You're the chick Boomer hit with the car!"

Speed and Lash howled with laughter, clutching their sides and almost falling over. Speed even had tears running down his cheeks at the 'fond' memory.

I stood there, clenching my fists, reminding myself that I'd repressed the memory and I was okay with being hero support. At least, I was okay with being hero support until I was punished for some deed in a past life and sentenced to a most cruel and unusual sort of punishment in the form of Lash.

"Once you're done reminiscing!" I snapped angrily.

Lash sobered up enough to speak. "Okay, look, Powers might have said you were my sidekick or whatever, but – and pay attention 'cause I'm only gonna say this once – I'm not interested."

"What?" I was shell-shocked. I hadn't spent four years perfecting my ability to change clothes at the speed of light only to have my hero tell me thanks but no thanks.

"The hero thing," Lash shrugged, "it's not gonna happen, so I won't be needing a sidekick."

"But… but you can't do that!" I protested, "You have to be a hero! I didn't get ninety four per cent on my Support S.A.T's just for you to turn around and say no!"

"Only ninety four?" Speed mocked, "What, didn't study enough?"

"You can't make me be a hero," Lash sounded amused at the very thought, "and since I don't want to waste my time picking kittens out of trees, I guess you wont be able to either."

Maybe my entire world didn't come crashing down, but it definitely wobbled precariously. What he was saying was true. If he wouldn't be a hero, then I couldn't be a sidekick. I couldn't be what I'd worked so hard to become. All because he was being a total jerk.

I think I stomped my foot a bit. "It's not allowed!" I cried, "Principal Powers will never let you just walk away and -"

"Last time I checked we'd graduated," Lash interrupted, "pretty sure I can do whatever I want."

"So, see ya!" Speed added, mock saluting.

I could feel the heat radiating off my face and knew it must be bright red, I was that angry. It wasn't as if I could just team up with the next hero that wandered by, Principal Powers had explicitly told us that heroes and sidekicks were especially matched up. I assumed it was a long and difficult process. Either that or they just pulled names out of a hat. But the point was I had been paired with Lash and, like it or not, if I wanted to put my training to good use I needed him to start donning a cape.

"We… we have to register as an official crime fighting team," I said weakly, watching my dreams dissolve before my very eyes.

Lash waved a dismissive hand. "Don't care."

I felt a tiny fluttering against my fingers and unclenched my fists to watch the red winged butterfly dance about my face. Quick as a flash, Lash stretched his arm over the considerable distance and snatched the butterfly. I watched in horror as its wings flapped uselessly against its prison while Lash, smirking, balled his hand up, crushing the poor thing.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Don't you have some fellow sidekicks to whine at?"

I felt tears spring into my eyes and, without another word, I turned on my heel and ran. I didn't stop until I'd reached the parking lot.

OOOO

I'm not sure how long I sat there crying like a pathetic eight year old who's just been teased by the big bad bully, but by the time I finally raised my head and wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt there was an army of butterflies hovering nearby.

"Dammit," I muttered, waving them away. Usually I was pretty good at keeping my conjuring in check, but like most kids with superpowers times of extreme emotion tend to mean lapses on the control front.

Maybe I should back up a bit. I'm the daughter of two dentists, _real_ dentists, mind, no superpowers whatsoever. And I was the same; just an ordinary fourth grade kid, a little on the pudgy side back then, but definitely ordinary. Until I happened to find myself being bitten by a freakin' mutated insect. Now all this sounds highly cool and you're probably thinking that I woke up the next morning with high-flying, springy web and retractable antennae. Well, it's sort of like that, only instead of the cool there's just me and the tiny butterflies I can conjure out of thin air.

Pretty wild, I know.

Not that any of it mattered now. What's the use of even having a superpower if it's just going to go to waste?

I got to my feet, whatever I was going to do about this could wait, I just wanted to go home. Giving the butterflies one last glance, hoping they didn't look too conspicuous in a shopping mall car park, I headed off back to the bus stop.

I absentmindedly kicked an empty coke can along as I walked, thinking hard.

Okay, so maybe I hadn't used the best approach. Stalking my hero down like some sort of crazed maniac and announcing out of the blue that we'd been paired together was, in retrospect, almost guaranteed to not go down well. I'd have to think of something else, some way to convince the guy voted 'most likely to become a villain' in our yearbook that he actually really wanted to be fighting for innocent people everywhere, because when it came down to it, either he became a hero, or I wound up a dentist for the rest of my life. And have I mentioned how I want to _help_ children, not stick metal wires in their mouths?

By the time I reached the bus stop I had made up my mind to look up Lash's address in the yearbook and pay him a little visit the next day, I needed tonight to come up with a convincing argument. I hoped it was a good plan. I suppose I could always threaten to tell his mom if he refused to cooperate, after all, this _was_ the good of the world we were talking about!

Why couldn't Principal Powers have just put me with someone else? I don't see Speed's sidekick running around trying to find him. Smart kid. Probably best to sort of forget the whole thing and try to fall in with one of those freelance hero groups. Only I couldn't. It wasn't just a matter of doing what we were supposed to be doing, because like Lash had kindly pointed out, we'd graduated. No, it was a matter of a little something Power's had mentioned on our very first day at Sky High.

"It is up to each and every one of you," she had told us, while I had tried to ignore the fact that Speed had just stolen my hat and was zooming around the gym with it, "to choose your own paths towards heroism. Whether you succeed or fail is entirely within your hands."

It wasn't a matter of giving up, that wasn't even an option. If I was going to get anywhere as a sidekick, if I was going to take my heroic journey into my own hands, I was going to have to beat some sense into Lash. Though maybe not literally, I could see that going extremely badly.


	2. A Brilliant Kind of Plan

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

A/N: To my anonymous reviewers - **Turner**, **Lumnia** and **Casablancas** - I couldn't reply to your reviews, so I'm thanking you guys here!

Two – A Brilliant Kind of Plan

I rang the bell, adjusting my backpack and hopping nervously from foot to foot. I had never been to anyone from hero class's house before, let alone Lash's, so I had no idea what to expect. Human skull collection, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise me.

The door was opened by a slightly balding, middle-aged man and my immediate reaction was that I had the wrong house because this couldn't possibly be Lash's father, not this pleasant faced fellow wearing a tie despite the fact it being Sunday.

"Oh, err, um…" I began intelligently.

"Yes?" the man asked politely.

"Um, is Lash home?" I managed. I waited for the man to shake his head and direct me further down the street. 'It's number Twenty Two A you're looking for, missy, no delinquents here.'

"He's upstairs." No way. "I'll call him for you."

I peered curiously through the front door while the man retreated further into the house. I dimly heard him calling to someone on the second floor. From what I could see, Lash's house was definitely average; floor boards, coat rack and I could even spy a kitchen full of gleaming appliances at the end of the hallway. Not a skull in sight.

The man, who I presumed was Lash's father, returned. For a moment I thought he was about to tell me Lash wasn't home after all and I opened my mouth to say I'd come back later, when suddenly I was being glared at by a familiar pair of eyes and I found myself face to face with the boy in question.

A split second later I found myself face to face with the closed door.

Talk about awkward! I debated simply walking away, surely that would be the easiest thing to do. Hell, I'd be saving myself a truck load of trouble.

I gritted my teeth and rang the doorbell again.

It was opened, once again, by a very embarrassed looking Lash's father.

"I'm so sorry about that," he apologised, gesturing me inside, "I don't know what's gotten into him."

"I think I have an idea," I muttered as I followed him down the hall, finding myself in a very pretty living room surrounded by lacy curtains and sleek white couches.

"Please, have a seat," he offered while I gazed, open-mouthed, at the crystal vase full of lilies set on the coffee table. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Have you had lunch?"

"Err… I'm fine." I was floored. Not even my own parents were so welcoming to me and here was this total stranger offering me lunch! I had obviously made a mistake assuming he was related to Lash. Surely the similarities in their appearances were coincidence rather then family likeness!

"I should come back later. I'm sorry to barge in like this…"

"No, no, not at all!" he waved the comment away, "it's a pleasure having you here…"

"Alissa," I supplied, "Alissa Daniels."

"Alissa." He stuck out his hand and I shook it. "Call me Peter."

Peter settled himself on one of the couches. "So, you know Lash from school?"

I dumped my bag and sat down myself, perching uncomfortably on the edge, instantly nervous about messing up the pure whiteness of the fabric.

"Well, sort of. We didn't really hang out," I admitted internally laughing at the very thought. Imagine hero support sitting at the resident bully's table! Not if you wanted to live, friends and neighbours!

"Actually Lash and I are assigned hero and sidekick," I explained, making the assumption that Lash had not informed his father about any of this, "we're supposed to be teaming up to, you know, fight crime and all that."

"Oh." Peter nodded in the way grandparents nod during conversations involving iPod's, like they have a basic understanding of the _theory_ but are completely unfamiliar with the technology on any level.

It occurred to me that it was entirely possible this Peter didn't have any superpowers whatsoever. I wanted to ask, but somehow it seemed a little rude.

An awkward silence fell. I stared around the room, giving my eyes something to do. My gaze almost instantly fell upon the fireplace. It was rather spectacular, all polished wood and gleaming steel, the perfect centrepiece to any room.

"I like that," I spoke up, pointing at the thing.

Peter glanced over at it. "Oh, yes. It was one of the reasons we bought the house in the first place."

I nodded, admiring the way its sides had been carved to resemble pillars. A single photograph in a black frame stood on the mantelpiece.

A sudden blast of noise, so loud it shook the walls, came crashing down from the second storey. I almost jumped clear out of my seat, quite possibly I had several simultaneous heart attacks. It actually took me a few seconds to realise it wasn't just random sound, but extremely loud music. Namely, an extremely loud electric guitar.

Peter was already on his feet, storming off down the hallway, leaving me alone in the living room, hands covering my ears.

So far I had to admit my plan wasn't working. To be fair, I actually hadn't gotten the chance to try yet because Lash was obviously refusing to even be present for my visit, so I hadn't technically failed, Veering slowly away from success, I'd call it. Though at the rate things were going I'd be lucky if I managed to become a sidekick this millennia.

Veering or no veering, I thought as blessed quiet returned to the house, the fact remained that I was sinking fast.

I expected Peter to return, having silenced the ear-splitting noise. However as the minutes ticked by with me doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs, I found my eyes being drawn back to the fireplace.

Glancing over my shoulder, in the direction of the doorway, to check no one was coming, I crossed the floor and stood before the mantel. Up close, though, it struck me as odd that the entire mantelpiece would be dedicated to only one photograph, especially when it was big enough to house enough decorative plates to make my Aunt Laura swoon.

Reaching out to pick it off its shelf for a better look, I couldn't help but gasp out loud. It wasn't the fact that I was looking at a family portrait with a very small and bug-eyed looking Lash in the middle, not to mention a much younger looking Peter. No, it was the woman with her hand on Lash's shoulder that my gaze fixed on. She was, in a word, beautiful. And that was the understatement of the century. I didn't even know real people could look like that! Long lashes framed brilliantly pale eyes set above high cheekbones, hair fell gracefully to slim shoulders, perfectly full lips curved into a smile of glittering white teeth. Completely beautiful.

A sudden creak of a floor board almost made me drop the photo. I hastily shoved it back in place, turning just in time to see Peter.

He gave me an odd look as I stood in the middle of the room, feeling as if I'd just been caught stealing the TV.

"Go on up," he said at last and I distinctly saw his eyes glance at something behind me, "Lash's door is the last on the right."

Now that didn't sound like a good idea at all, but considering it must be blindingly obvious to Peter that I wasn't a friend of his son's and, therefore, had no real right to be in his house, I decided it best to thank him quickly, grab my bag and go on my way.

Just before I turned out of the living room, I chanced a quick look back. My heart sunk as I saw the photograph sitting some distance from its original position.

I found the staircase, no problem. It was getting my feet to climb it that proved difficult. Their survival instinct must have been stronger then I'd ever imagined.

"Alright," I muttered to myself, "alright. Just stick to the plan and this time tomorrow you'll be cruising shotgun in the Batmobile."

Somehow I didn't even believe myself.

I would have been able to pick Lash's room even without Peter's directions. The enormous hand drawn sign announcing 'Lash'z Room: Go Away' tapped on the door was a dead giveaway. For the third time that day I found myself knocking.

I nervously patted my backpack. Inside was the master plan that had occurred to me during the bus ride home yesterday. I silently prayed to the Powers-That-Be that it would work.

"What now, sidekick?"

Since he was so stubbornly refusing to let me be a sidekick I thought it a bit rich to go calling me one anyway. I refrained from pointing it out, I wasn't here to cause a fight, I was here to negotiate and, more importantly, guilt trip.

"Lash," I began in my most reasonable voice, calling through the closed door, "I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday and," I added hastily before he could have a chance to interrupt, "it's probably mostly my fault, springing the whole hero support thing on you like that." I paused in case he felt the sudden compulsion to apologise. No such luck. I continued.

"But, all that aside, I actually came here today to show you something."

"If it's a homemade costume I don't wanna see it."

Ignoring the comment I unzipped my backpack to produce a stack of newspapers. Not just recent newspapers either, some of them dated back well over twenty years. That's the beauty of having dentists as parents. They're waiting rooms areessentially mediatime capsules.

The door creaked open in a manner horror movie pro's are extremely familiar with. Expelling the image of me as Marion Crane, I bravely stepped forward… making sure to stay well within the doorway.

I gasped.

Dazzling golden sunlight was spilling in through wide bay windows, lighting up a room that was simply… enormous. Seriously, this place made it look like I slept in the pantry or something!

Decorated differently, it would have resembled an expensive hotel suit. As it was every square inch of wall had been covered by a poster of some description so that it was impossible to tell what colour they were painted. The wardrobe doors were thrown open, various clothes and other junk spilling out onto the floor (well, I assumed there was a floor, I couldn't see it). There was a desk housing stacks of CD's piled so high it would have made Edmund Hillary's head spin. A bed occupied the space opposite the windows, I instantly recognized the Sky High crest emblazed upon the quilt. And a rather impressive looking electric guitar stood in the corner.

"Meep," I said.

Lash, sitting on a swivel desk chair, looked extremely bored. "Go on, then. What is it?"

I mentally pulled myself together. This was no time to be admiring good architectural design. I pulled out the topmost newspaper and opened it to the page I'd marked last night. Holding it up for Lash to see I launched into my prepared speech.

"Last year a gang of teenage girls tortured and murdered an elderly man," I stated matter-of-factly, pointing at the relevant article to emphasise my point, "these same girls then proceeded to rob over seven houses and one convenience store, injuring another elderly occupant in the process."

Lash swivelled his chair a bit. "So?"

"_So_, they simply continued their murderous joyride until two of them were allegedly caught by police _twelve months_ later! But it hasn't made any difference, not when the other eight are still out there, allowed to walk the streets even after what they did! Don't you think they should have been stopped earlier?"

Lash shrugged and didn't say anything. I continued.

"And here," I pulled out my next newspaper, "Teddy Rod escaped from prison where he was serving a lifetime sentence for repeated armed assault and setting fire to a local bus when it pulled up to let him on. Two passengers died in the blaze and fifteen more were treated for third-degree burns. Now he's out there somewhere, escaping justice and no one can find him. Is that right?" I demanded. Without waiting for an answer I pulled out the next newspaper.

"A woman, later identified by police investigators as Katrina Scott, was caught attempting to poison her town's drinking water. She escaped before she could be captured and could be anywhere. But look at this," I flipped to another marked page, "a man with the ability to render himself invisible has been charged with over _eighty_ murders! A kid in Connecticut who can control electricity reportedly electrocuted his friends to death while they were swimming in his pool!"

I threw the newspaper down, glaring hard. "There's countless tragedies befalling the everyday people of the world because there is no one to stop these lunatics bent on causing destruction!"

Lash held up a hand. "It's plain as day where this is going, but I think you've left out the little fact that there are already scores of superheroes out there catching the bad guys."

"But not enough!" I argued, "No where near enough. They can't stop everything, they can't catch everyone and that's why there's always room for more, because where one hero doesn't succeed, another will!"

I yanked a newspaper out at random, looking at the article I'd marked. It was an old one, dated some ten years ago and I'd chosen it as a real heartstring puller.

"Look," I said, "an innocent family's life was torn apart when Barron Battle blew up their house. No one knows why he did it, he just did. There's just villains out there who'll do stuff like that without a second thought."

I looked up in triumph, certain that I was only moments away from becoming the very best hero support ever.

The newspaper was suddenly yanked out of my hand. Lash had super-extended his arm to grab it off me.

"You've done your homework," he sneered sarcastically, "and I salute you. It honestly almost nearly worked, too. If you were a bit luckier, there might have even been a tear. So I'm sure you'll understand when I say it's a real shame I'm going to have to tell you to get out of my house before I call the cops."

I stared at him. Could he seriously be so completely self-obsessed as to stand idly by and let criminals get away with stuff like this? Surely he understood that he had both the power and the opportunity to do something about the awful stuff we hear each night on the news. And surely he wasn't so stupid as to not realise that there were millions out there who would jump at the chance to be a superhero! He was getting the power of justice handed to him on a silver platter and he was simply sending it back, claiming it wasn't what he ordered.

Needless to say, I was shocked.

From the pocket of my jeans I pulled a crumpled form. Principal Powers had given us all one on graduation in order to register as working superheros for the mayor.

"You really wont be a hero?" I asked.

"I really wont," he said, shooting me a grin.

I stuffed the newspapers back into my bag, turning to leave. I let the form fall from my grip to land on the carpet just outside his door. No need to bother filling it in and sending it off to the mayor now.

I half turned to close the door behind me. As I did I caught a quick glimpse of Lash. He was still swivelling his damn chair, but he was reading the article he'd snatched off me with a very peculiar expression on his face.

Downstairs, I said goodbye to Peter in the kitchen. He shook my hand, asking if I wanted a ride home.

"Thanks, but it's only a couple of streets away," I said as he walked me to the door.

As we passed by the living room I chanced a quick peek at the mantelpiece. The photograph was gone.

OOOO

I lay on my bed staring listlessly at the ceiling, beyond my window the sun had begun its decent from the sky and my room was slowly growing dark. I traced a lazy pattern in the air with my fingertips, a steady stream of tiny butterflies blooming, colours dancing before my eyes only to grow dull in the shadows.

All I needed was a little Backstreet Boys and I'd be well on my way to some genuine angst.

A soft knock came to the door.

"Yeah?"

And in walked my mother, still wearing her long, white dental coat, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, hair slightly frazzled from working all day. She immediately switched on the overhead light and as she sat down on the end of my bed I pretended not to notice the way the corners of her mouth twitched into a frown at the sight of all my butterflies.

"You haven't eaten the dinner I left you," she said, voice full of that wonderful motherly concern.

"Wasn't hungry," I shrugged.

"But you usually love my tuna surprise." She examined me over the top of her glasses. I felt like one of her patients and made sure to keep my mouth shut so she wouldn't be able to see my teeth. "Is something wrong?" she asked at last.

I sighed. _Mothers_. "No, mom."

Okay now I was definitely being examined. It's times like these I'm actually glad my parents are dentists and not psychiatrists, even with the guessing that's bound to follow whenever they think something is bothering me.

"Are you sick? Did Aunt Laura phone? You know how she gets sometimes…"

I shook my head. "Nothing is wrong! I just feel like sitting alone in the dark."

"Is it about a boy?" she must have noticed a reaction because she nodded knowingly. "It's always about a boy," she muttered.

"It's not what you think," I told her, feeling I might as well explain since she was so convinced she'd stumbled upon the source of all my problems, "he's supposed to be my hero, but he won't. I tried reasoning with him, but he wont listen and now I'll never be a good hero support."

If my mom was even slightly confused by this she didn't show it, she didn't even bat an eyelash before answering. "Honey, sometimes people just need a bit of space to think about what they really want out of life, that's all. I'm sure he'll come around." I snorted. "Besides," she couldn't help adding, "you are a wonderful girl and any boy that doesn't see that isn't worth your time."

"_Mo-om_!" I cried, absolutely horrified, "I'm talking about saving the world, not dating!"

She smiled. "Well, cheer up anyhow. It'll work out, you know it will. It's like I always say; just keep flossing, it'll be worth it in the long run." She kissed the top of my head and got to her feet.

"Mom," I called just before she left, "but what do you do when you realise your life might not turn out the way you'd always thought it would?"

"You learn to live with that realisation," she said, shooing a stray butterfly away, "before it drives you mad. Goodnight, Alissa."

"Night, mom."

The door shut with a snap and I was alone again, thinking hard.

I loved my mom, there was no question there, but that didn't mean I automatically agreed with everything she said. Right then I was having difficulty accepting that everything would work out if I just accepted things and gave Lash his space. If anything he would probably see it as a sign that I'd given up.

Stupid Lash! Why he couldn't just do what he had to do was beyond me. I refused to accept the possibility that I might have to spend the rest of my life as just another citizen to be rescued from giant robots and the like, not when I had a superpower (albeit a lame superpower, but a power nonetheless).

I glared angrily at the butterfly that had just burst forth from nothing, not even really seeing the delicate green wings.

But what was the opposite of giving people space…

"I think I need a new plan," I said to myself.


	3. Panic

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And to my anonymous reviews - **Sidekick**, **Lumnia** and **Grenade Jumper** - who I couldn't reply to tell you guys thanks!

Three – Panic

In a way the chase had begun. In another way I had resorted to wearing a pair of dark glasses and a hideous sunhat while tracking Lash all over Maxville.

It was beyond lame, I was fully aware of _that_ little fact, but I was done with kidding around. There was no more time for brilliant ideas and elaborate schemes. There was only the feeling of a quickly approaching deadline. After all, who'd ever heard of an _old_ superhero?

So it was that I prowled the streets, occasionally catching myself humming the Mission: Impossible theme under my breath, waiting and watching for the right moment to spring Lash's sense of righteousness upon him.

I began walking past his house, everyday, eager to catch him on his way out, or bringing the paper in, or _anything_! I'd even make up an excuse, telling myself that it really was the quickest way to the library to return those books for my dad. And it could actually still be classified as walking, too. I kept a normal pace, nodding at passers-by, pretending to be enjoying the hot June weather as I chanced a quick peek at the house.

Then I'd start passing it on my way home as well. Just to be fair, you know? Just to double my chances. I hardly even noticed the way my feet began to drag on the pavement, or how I sometimes stood there staring at the empty front yard for ten minutes before realising what I was doing.

At night I dreamt of raging fires that destroyed half of Maxville, of trains racing towards cliff edges, of people trapped in cable cars dangling thousands of feet in the air. I'd wake up and ride my bike over to Lash's house, almost halfway there before I'd notice that the sun hadn't even risen yet.

I was losing it.

The problem was I didn't know Lash. I mean, sure, I used to see him almost every day at school, but beyond being the kid who helped Royal Pain revert everyone back to their infant forms I had no idea who he was. I wanted to know him. I needed to know him. It my only shot at figuring out why he wouldn't be a hero.

Two weeks past and, despite my best efforts, I didn't run into Lash once. I was despairing big time, and almost ready to admit that maybe my mom _had_ been right after all, maybe see about finding a part time job until he came around, before I went completely stark raving mad.

Then one day, as I was riding my bike home, I spotted him. He was just standing there, talking to some guy I didn't recognise, as I rode through an intersection. He didn't see me and I was so shocked I almost ran into a parked car, but it was a good sign, it was a start.

After that it was impossible for a day to go by _without_ seeing Lash.

Suddenly whenever I went to signal the bus driver that my stop was next there'd be Lash, sitting a few seats away. I'd go to the movies and, sure enough, Lash would pass me in the lobby. I'd be in the car with my mom and look out the window only to see Lash behind the wheel of the car next to us.

It was extremely weird, but I didn't much care. At least this way I could keep tabs on him, observe his day-to-day life and figure out the best way to infiltrate it with heroism.

I was walking ten feet away at all times, certain that Lash hadn't even noticed his new shadow, following him through Maxville as he didn't even try to do good for anyone. So, of course, it was a little hard for me _not_ to notice when he dropped a piece of paper in the gutter.

I grabbed at it eagerly, completely prepared for secret codes and the like (when I mentioned I was losing it, I seriously meant I was _losing it_!) I was a little disappointed to find that it was merely a flyer advertising some band at some place I'd never heard of. Sighing, I straightened up, ready to move on out of the gutter before people started staring.

One step and I walked straight into the last person I wanted to see, well, ever.

Brian. My former hero support classmate.

"Alissa?" He sounded shocked. Couldn't blame him, though, I was right there with him. I mean, how often do you spend the better part of six months trying to avoid someone only to crash right into them when you're in the middle of vital hero support duties? Not too often, I can tell you, especially when they're doing their best to avoid you right back.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me.

I decided to politely let the question slide, I wasn't in the mood to point out that I lived in Maxville.

"Brian," I attempted a smile, but only managed a sort of grimace, "how, uh, how are you?"

"Fine," Brian said stiffly, blue eyes looking everywhere but at me. "What's with the hat?"

I ripped the thing from my head, balling it up in my fist, so much for my clever disguise.

I crossed my arms awkwardly. I certainly hadn't been prepared for anything quite like this. I mean, gearing towards saving the world I could handle, hell, stalking Lash I could handle, but having to make humiliatingly uncomfortable small talk with the ex-boyfriend… well, I was ready to run a mile.

I could see Brian casting around for something to say. "Oh, Panic," he said at last, reinforcing my already strong belief that he was completely mental. He nodded at the flyer still clutched in my hand. "Are you going?"

I blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Panic," he repeated, "are you going?"

"Come again? What's a panic?"

Brian gave me an odd look. "Panic, it's a club," he explained in a voice that suggested he thought I was either extremely slow or reeling drunk, "It's in the bad part of town."

"Bad part of town?" I gulped.

He nodded. "About half a block from the good part of town. Not much town to speak of in Maxville," he mused.

"Really…" I was staring at the flyer with new found interest. Sure enough the word 'Panic' was stamped across the top in block letters, followed by a street address at the very bottom. If Lash was going to be there –

"Didn't much pick it for your scene," Brian interrupted my thinking, "not really our crowd."

"No, I don't suppose it is," I murmured, distracted by the new wave of thoughts bouncing around in my head, "I bet it's a strictly 'hero class' sort of thing."

Now Brian looked as if I'd grown an extra head. "I guess."

I carefully folded the flyer and stuck it in the back of my jeans. I smiled at Brian's confused face. "Say, how's your hero support thing working out?" I asked him.

"Err, great," his voice held just a trace of suspicion, "yeah, we haven't had any calls yet, but we're hopeful. Of course we haven't finished finalising costumes, so in a way it's kind of a plus."

"How super for you," I said and sidestepped around him, continuing off down the street.

Lash was long gone, but that was okay. I'd just had to talk to Brian, but that was alright too. I skipped a little on the way home. I had a lot to do, like digging out the phone book and finding out exactly where this bad part of town was.

OOOO

I had never been to a club before, which is probably glaringly obvious within five seconds of meeting me. I'd never heard of Panic, none of my old Sky High buddies had exactly been the type to hang out in places like that. But if Lash was going to be there, I was going to be there. It was a good chance to try and find out what made him tick, not to mention another chance at introducing myself as a person rather then an annoyance. Besides, you never know what incentives a good brawl might bring out, maybe even a little righteousness if I was real lucky.

It was a cool night despite the season and it was while I was pulling on a sweater that my mom came in. She sized up the fact that I was getting ready immediately.

"Are you going out tonight?" she asked in a would-be casual voice, eyeing my scuffed Mary Janes.

"Yeah," I reached around her for a hair tie, "I'm going to a club."

"Oh." She nodded, obviously milling this over in her head. "Will there be boys?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, mom, it's a nun club."

"No need for sarcasm," she told me.

"And no need for worry," I mocked, waggling a finger at her.

"But, Alissa –" she began.

"Seriously, mom, I'll be fine," I cut in, touching a finger to her temple. When I drew it away a brilliant pink butterfly had settled in her hair. "Home by twelve," I called as I raced out the door, tying my hair in a ponytail as I went.

True to Brian's word, Panic was half a block from the good part of town – which mainly consisted of office buildings and all the places I usually go. The bad part of town, on a Friday night, was full of people coming and going.

I caught the bus over, having no idea how I was going to get home again, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk I felt like all the butterflies I had ever created were currently partying in the pit of my stomach. Quite possibly this was the worst idea I'd ever had and it was also quite possible that by the end of the night I would be seriously regretting ever seeing Lash drop that flyer in the first place. But it was too late for any of that now; the Mission: Impossible song was running through my head.

I did my best to blend, which is easier said then done when you're walking alone, mumbling street numbers to yourself. Fighting my way against jostling groups of kids – most of whom looked way too young to be out and about by themselves – I finally craned my neck to be met with a large sign declaring the word 'Panic' in glowing letters.

Now, I've never considered myself to be a very intuitive sort of person, but there was just something about the line of people trailing into the blackness beyond the doors that sent off alarms in my head. It was stupid and I shook off my uneasiness, tacking myself onto the end of the line, taking deeper breaths then necessary.

People went to places like this all the time, what's the worst that could happen?

The line moved forward, past the heavily leathered bouncers checking ID's. I tried to remind myself that it was all for the greater good.

The man scrutinised my ID for what felt like ages. I wondered if they ever refused entry on the grounds of being hero support, which was ridiculous because these people weren't superheroes, they'd never had to do Power Placement, they'd never even heard of Sky High. Still…

At last, after eyeing me up and down and demanding to check my purse, I was waved inside. I stumbled forward, my feet feeling too heavy as I dragged them up the carpeted stairs. It was dark and… loud. I blinked my eyes furiously in an attempt to regain my sight, refraining from cupping my hands over my ears.

Inside was packed. More bouncers lined the bar, making sure no one who wasn't supposed to got near anything stronger then lemonade. Across a sea of heads and waving arms a band played under dim, silvery lights.

I pulled nervously on the end of my sweater, biting my lower lip. I was distinctly aware that I must just scream 'awkward' standing there, dressed in basically what I'd been wearing that day, eyes scanning hopelessly for any sign of Lash.

Definitely my worst idea to date.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, edging away from the bar, "okay."

It hit me that Panic might not have been such a random name after all. It sure was nearing the top of my list of current emotional states.

How on earth was I going to find Lash! I certainly hadn't taken any of this into account when deciding to come. Not to mention that if I did, somehow, manage to find him, there would be no way to communicate, it was so noisy.

I tried not to dwell on the problems. The important thing was to remain calm and try not to cause a spontaneous eruption of butterflies.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged myself into the crowd. I turned full circle, completely surrounded by bodies in a manner of milliseconds, jostling and stomping, I was grabbed and pushed and I'm pretty sure my hair was pulled a little. The red haired girl next to me stumbled and spilt her drink all over my shoes, mumbling a drunken apology before propelling herself away. Everyone seemed to be in various stages of yelling, whether at one another or along with the band, it was hard to tell.

It would have been sort of infectious had I been in the mood to impersonate a can of sardines. The crowd in front of me shifted slightly as someone fell over and I caught sight of an attractive boy with pale blond hair sweeping into his eyes singing into the microphone. Yeah, definitely infectious.

I cracked a grin despite myself. The crowd surged forward and I threw out my arms to steady myself against the crush. A train of people shoved their way through, attempting to break out. A crushing pain in my wrist hit me like a train. I cried out, trying to wrench my wrist back. Tears sprung into my eyes and I turned, almost blindly, to the source.

"Lash!" My voice was lost against the noise, I couldn't even hear it.

Lash had my arm in a vice-like grip, one eyebrow raised, giving me a look of mock interest. I struggled, gasping in pain as he twisted my arm to draw me towards him. He was actually quite a bit taller then me and, so, had to really lean down to speak in my ear.

"You," his voice sounded calm, but he couldn't completely disguise the anger, "you've been following me."

Damn! So he _had_ noticed after all! But he'd made no sign of it before now and I'd been so sure he hadn't seen me all those times I'd spotted him.

There wasn't really that much I could say. I suppose I could have apologised, but considering I could almost feel the bones in my wrist breaking it seemed like a waste of breath. I dimly wondered why no one around saw the need to intervene. Just another case for my Maxville-needing-more-superheroes theory, I guess.

"No more newspapers?" he continued in my ear, "I'm a little disappointed."

"Please!" I panted, "Let go!"

Lash, much to my surprise, obliged. A second later I was being steered out of the crowd, convinced he was going to take me out back and shoot me or something. He didn't. He merely leant against the wall, arms folded, looking down at me expectedly.

"Well?"

"Um," I said, attempting to rub some feeling back into my arm, "what?"

"What's the plan?" I must have gone blank because he laughed. "Oh, come on, like you would come here for any other reason then to continue following me. So what is it this time? Gonna tell me some more sob stories? Or is it time for us to discuss sidekick names?"

I gave him my best glare which was a little hard considering the pain I was in, not to mention the fact that my ears were straining to hear a single word he was saying. I hadn't caught all of it, but I assumed none of it was particularly nice.

"Actually I came here to introduce myself to you."

Lash laughed even harder. I waited patiently for it to subside.

"You don't know me," I explained, "and I don't know you. I bet if we just talked we'd find that we have more in common then we think."

"Look, do you see what the problem is here?" he asked, continuing without waiting for an answer. "You keep saying 'we'. There is no 'we'. You might get your kicks from the idea of me wearing tights and, hey, I'm not judging." My glare intensified. "But I don't."

"Lash," I said through gritted teeth, "can't you just shut up and tell me your favourite colour?"

He rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms, beginning to walk away. I counted silently to five, praying for patience. Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

I thought about calling after him, but in all honesty there didn't seem to be any point. He probably wouldn't even hear me anyway. I wondered what Brian was doing at that very moment. Probably sewing his costume or something. The thought made me feel sick. Everyone else was well on their way to achieving something, something normal people never get the chance to do, and here I was, hanging out in a club watching my hero walk away.

Things just couldn't get much better, I thought bitterly.

A large drunk man suddenly crashed into me, knocking me clean off my feet, sending me sprawling on the ground. He'd stumbled backwards into me and from my position I saw his feet turn around. I could just imagine him scratching his head, wondering what he'd hit.

"Oi, darlin', what you doin' down there?"

I was manhandled roughly to my feet. The man looked me up and down. I would actually have been very surprised if he could see anything, given how bloodshot his eyes were. He was clutching a can of God-only-knew-what and seemed very intent on closing the distance between us.

I stepped backwards hastily. Cursing Lash silently when I remembered that he'd led me to the wall. The man opened his mouth to say something, a wicked grin plastered on his face, when he was suddenly distracted by a butterfly crawling over his hand clutching the can. He let out a yelp, sending the can (and its contents) flying. A second later I was drenched in alcohol.

"Fantastic," I muttered as the man stomped away, the butterfly coming to rest on the front of my dripping sweater. I sighed and pulled the sweater over my head, not sure what to do with it in its current state.

On the other hand the commotion seemed to have drawn Lash back. Which probably wasn't exactly a cause for celebration. I noticed that he hadn't tried to help me.

"Ready to get to know me?" I asked, attempting to wring out my clothing.

"You're a sidekick, there's nothing more I need to know," he hissed nastily.

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing," I said, holding my soaking sweater a little away from me. "I'm okay with being hero support. It sure beats almost getting expelled for turning everyone into babies, or have you forgotten that?"

"Technically I didn't turn anyone –"

"You ruined Homecoming!" I yelled. A few people turned around to stare. "You ruined what was supposed to be the greatest night…" I trailed off, closing my eyes and praying for even more patience. "And all you got was a few months detention. Do you care?"

Lash sneered. "I might have helped a few friends, closed a few doors. It's not like anything bad happened."

I shook my head. "You know, I actually thought you were joking about all this not wanting to be a hero stuff. I thought you'd come around and we could work together. But I guess I do know you after all, Lash. You're nothing but a bully."

I tied my sweater around my waist. The alcohol was cold and rather sticky against my skin, not to mention extremely gross. I made a mental note never to ignore my intuition again. A perfectly good sweater had been ruined, I'd probably have a bruise the size of Texas on my arm by tomorrow morning which I'd have to explain to my mom, plus I still didn't know exactly how I was going to get home. Did the buses even run this late?

I pushed my way through the crowd, heading for the exit. The band was still playing, a roar of shapeless noise against my ears. Suddenly I felt very tired.

"Hey, sidekick!" Lash's voice yelled at me.

I stopped but didn't turn around. "What?"

"How're you getting home?"

Okay now I turned around. I stared at him. The freaky idea that he could read my thoughts darted through my head. I shrugged. "Bus," I said simply.

His mouth twisted into a tiny smile. "Wanna ride?" he asked.

Wait, backtrack, was he actually concerned about my wellbeing? Hope filled bubbles rose in my chest. Concern was, essentially, a one-way ticket to justice.

"A ride?" I repeated, unable to keep the silly grin from my face.

He stepped towards me. "Yeah, I'll give you a ride home if you help me with something."

The bubbles burst, one by one. That definitely didn't sound promising.

"Nothing big," he continued, coming closer, "just something Speed and I were planning to do. I think now's the right time and, well, since Speed isn't here and with you being my sidekick and all…"

"What are you talking about?" He was making me feel nervous. Not to mention that he had just suggested I could fill in for his weight-challenged best friend. "'Planning to do', like a job or something?"

"More or less. You in?"

I bit my lip. Around us the pace had slowed somewhat. The band had finished and despite the fact that hundreds of people were still laughing and talking and fighting, it felt almost quiet.

"Okay," I said at last, deciding to take the fact that he'd said I could help him as his sidekick as a sign that it couldn't be anything terrible. Well, at least, _too_ terrible. It could always bring us closer as a team, right?

"Super." He put his face very close to mine, the dim lights turning his eyes into empty, shadowy sockets. "We have a job to do. Come on."

OOOO

- The good/bad part of town and the nun club thing are both quotes from Buffy. Just so you know I'm not stealing! ;) -


	4. The Job

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! Oh and P.S, thanks to everyone who has reviewed since my last update: **Turner**, **A.E Hall**, **xxxjodiexxx**, **cheekybumbum**, **w1cked angel**, **lovestoread**, **Nelle07**, **A Bit**, **Azul Tigress**, **Rayvin813**, **West Trekker**, **Lumnia**, **Grenade Jumper**, **Barb**, and **Libretto**!

Four - The Job

Life's funny, really. Like, when you think things just couldn't possibly get any worse than they already are something almost always comes along to prove you wrong. I guess in my case that thing is Lash.

He immediately ducked through the crowd, leaving me to scramble after him and wonder if I had long to go in this world. Of course it did occur to me that I could simply leave. Sure, I could just turn around, go home and spend the rest of the night planning a new way to follow Lash around. No problem. Only I'd already said I'd do whatever it was Lash had planned and somehow I didn't think backing out of my word was going to be good for my health.

I scrambled after him, elbowing my way through the mass of bodies. I caught up with him standing a short way from the security lining the bar area.

"Lash, what –" I started to say, but he interrupted.

"We need a distraction," he told me, eyes scanning over the crowd behind us. "Watch that guy."

I followed Lash's gaze to see the huge drunken man who had knocked me over earlier. He had stumbled his way over to the middle of the dance floor where he was bobbing up and down in a ridiculous imitation of dancing. But even as I watched him he staggered, flinging his arms out and whirling them in circles in an attempt to keep his balance. I gasped as he went down, taking those in his immediate presence with him.

From the corner of my eye I saw Lash's arm return to its normal length.

I barely had time to wonder at the questionable effectiveness of the distraction when there was an angry yell, followed by a stuttered apology cut off by a wild punch. It took about three seconds for the situation to become a fully blown brawl.

Distraction indeed.

Bodies were flying everywhere, limbs flung through the air to connect with unsuspecting jaws, the singer of the band threw himself off stage to join the fight. In short it was pandemonium. And I was actually a little impressed that Lash had been able to cause it all with barely a flick of the wrist. Well, impressed and disgusted.

"Don't just stand there."

My eyes felt like giant saucers and I was pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to move even if I tried. Lash, on the other hand, seemed to be operating on some preconceived plan. Before I could react he had roughly tugged the tie out of my hair, leaving it to fall about my shoulders, and strolled over to the bar as if he owned the place. The majority of security guards had run off to either stop or join the brawl, leaving Lash with an open field.

I had no idea what he was doing. Surely, _surely_, he hadn't dragged me into this just so he could buy a shot of bourbon for his coke? My mind informed me that if this was the case I had just made the sort of mistake that makes Uwie Boll movies look like innocent misunderstandings.

I was still staring, my head feeling a little too light as it followed Lash's progress across the floor. Basically, I was shocked. No, I think I'd moved on from shock to horror, actually. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me that this was wrong, wrong, _wrong_! What had I been thinking?! Why had I agreed to this? And, come to think of it, Lash still hadn't bothered to tell me what 'this' was.

Walk away, Alissa, walk away right now!

Lash glanced at me over his shoulder, smirk in place, obviously taking enjoyment from my complete lack of. He tossed me a wink before sliding neatly over the bar top and disappearing from view.

"Oh great," I muttered out loud, senses returning in a rush.

There was nothing for it, I knew what I had to do. Trying to look as casual as possible, I hurried over to the last spot I'd seen Lash. Peering over the high, polished wood I could see nothing at first but the continuing floor on the other side. Then Lash's form materialized, crouched low in the shadows. He seemed to be lost in concentration, he didn't even notice my frantic arm waving or desperate pleas to get out of there.

I looked up and down the bar. Despite the almost epic fight going on in the background, a lot of people were still milling about, not to mention all the bartenders. There was no way I was ever going to get over without someone noticing.

A split second later most of the neatly stacked glasses were sent crashing to the ground in a shower of glittering, jagged pieces. I distinctly saw my hair tie lying innocently alongside the mess. Oh God, did that mean I was indirectly responsible for a crime? There wasn't much time to ponder the thought, though, as everyone's attention was drawn to the 'accident', I scrambled unceremoniously over the bar, dropping down right beside Lash.

"What are -?" I tried to ask again, but he waved an impatient hand at me.

"See the door?" he whispered, jerking his head in its direction. "We need that key." He pointed. I think my lungs collapsed a little.

It was a small key, tarnished silver, and it glimmered tauntingly on a hook exactly two centimeters from the closest bartender, still serving drinks while his colleagues rushed to clean up.

"Lash, no!" I hissed. "You've had your laugh, let's just go. We aren't supposed to be back here! We could get in so much trouble!"

Predictably, Lash ignored me. "Hurry up and get the key, sidekick."

"_What_?!"

Lash mock pouted. "I thought we were a team."

I frowned with indignation. "I am not helping you! You're practically breaking the law! Starting a brawl, destruction of property, breaking and entering, and let's not forget the –"

Lash super-stretched his arm past me, snaking it past the bartender and grabbing the key easily. No one noticed. That's justice for you.

"Quick." Lash jammed the key in the door, already rattling the handle, and yanked it open. He pushed me inside, slamming the door behind him and relocking it.

It was as if someone had flicked the switch to mute. There was a vague sense of movement and noise coming from outside, but it had become a dim pulse, distant and unimportant. It was also pitch black. I waved my hand in front of my face, nothing.

It occurred to me that being shoved into a dark room by a criminal-wannabe probably wasn't something a girl should experience often… or, you know, at all. It was like the plot of a cheesy horror movie, except I wasn't a cheerleader. Still, it was a bit disconcerting knowing that Lash was in this room somewhere but not being able to see him. Just a bit.

I stretched my hands out warily, feeling around for my surroundings. I found a waist-high something. And screamed.

I was having mental images of my own funeral when the overhead light switched on.

I felt like a bit of an idiot standing in the middle of the now well lit room, one outstretched hand on the back of a randomly placed chair. I quickly cleared my throat, trying to hide the blush that was threatening to rise.

Luckily Lash was too busy poking around to pay me any attention.

It was obvious that this was the backroom. A jumble of coats and bags belonging to the bar staff hung from hooks near the door, there was a lunch table and a TV, an assortment of coffee mugs and all the usual things you would expect people to have at work. Then there was row upon row of spare glasses glinting dully in the light, electrical tape wound around an alarmingly large bundle of different colored wires, a stack of promotional VIP cards, cartoons of alcohol stacked high against the far wall… and, of course, a safe.

Lash, who had been examining the boxes of alcohol a little too closely for my liking, suddenly ripped one open, pulling out several bottles of beer and stowing them away under his jacket. I stared at him hopelessly. "Lash," I said warily. "You dragged me all the way back here to _steal beer_?"

Lash snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, sidekick. I also came for the money."

"Money?" I repeated weakly, somehow unable to believe that this could be happening. I mean, there was no way Lash was simply robbing this place. No way. It had to be some sort of misunderstanding. "What are you talking about?"

He twisted the cap off a bottle and, taking a deep swig, didn't answer. Instead he dropped to his knees in front of the safe, squinting at the combination lock. If someone walked in now we would be trapped, caught red handed. I wondered why my parents would say when they had to bail me out of jail. How do I get myself into these situations?

Lash gave the lock an experimental twist.

"No!" I hissed, dashing across the floor and almost knocking the random chair over. "No way!" I pushed my way between him and the safe, managing to hit his nose with my knee. A part of me was waiting for him to start laughing and announce that this was all a big joke. It was getting less and less likely.

"Get out of the way," he said calmly.

"Lash, please!" I begged desperately. "You can't just _rob_ them!"

"Look," he rocked back on his heels, shrugging his shoulders up at me, "I was born with superpowers. I need cash. It doesn't take a genius to work it out."

I stared down at him incredulously. Has he seriously never heard of a paper route? "No, you're right," I folded my arms, "it takes a villain."

"Villain, hero," he said flippantly, pushing me aside, "We all end up the same in the end."

"So, you and Speed were planning on becoming petty thieves?"

"What can I say?" he grinned. "We aim high."

He got to work, pressing his ear against the metal like they do in movies, spinning the dial round and round, waiting for a faint click. I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised that he knew exactly what to do to get in here, and how to crack the safe once he was. Supposedly he'd been planning this with Speed for ages. What do their mother's think they do at night?

I watched helplessly, holding my breath, as he gave the lock a final twist and the door creaked open to his shout of triumph. Despite myself, I peered over his shoulder, wondering what was worth all this to get. As he'd said, it was full of money.

Clear plastic bags were stacked haphazardly inside, each full to bursting point with bills. My mouth fell open as Lash started grabbing randomly at them without thought. It went right alongside the stolen beer. I wouldn't be surprised if the jacket was stolen too. In fact, who knows! Maybe he's a big time crime lord with a ring of associates who all refer to him as 'The Shark.'

So much for thinking getting to know him would make a difference. If anything it's made it worse. How can I ever convince someone determined on making it on America's Most Wanted before he hits twenty that he'd rather do good?

My thoughts were interrupted by the doorknob turning.

Lash froze, a bag of money falling out of his hands. My head snapped around so fast I distinctly heard my neck crack. _Oh God!_ There was a bang that sounded uncomfortably like a fist knocking repeatedly on wood.

"Who's in there?" a male voice yelled.

Lash's arm super-stretched across the room to the light switch, plunging us back into complete darkness. I was actually thankful that he'd locked the door behind us. I could hear my own shallow gasps as the man on the other side rattled the handle violently.

"I don't want to die!" I whimpered.

"Shut up," Lash's voice growled at me from somewhere on my left, "and you'll be fine."

_Fine_?! "Fine?" I repeated out loud in a hissing whisper. "How can you describe anything about this as 'fine'? This is the least fine I've ever been in my entire life!"

"Hey!" the man on the other side shouted, and it sounded as though he was moving away from the door. Oh please let the fight have spilled over onto the bar! "Someone get me the spare key to the backroom. I swear there's someone in here."

I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the scream that threatened to burst out. They were going to come in!

"Lash!" I cried, still keeping my voice low, not sure how far away he was. "Lash, what are we going to do?"

"There's that 'we' again, sidekick." He sounded faintly amused, as if we weren't exactly where we weren't supposed to be. I heard the echoing bang of metal on metal that meant he'd slammed the safe door closed. Obviously while seeing fit to cut the lights, he saw no need to keep quiet. The temptation to yell at him was almost overwhelming.

"Did you put the money back?" I asked wildly, thinking for a second that he couldn't possibly be _that_ stupid…

"No way!"

Then again...

They were banging on the door again, threatening something about cops and baseball bats that would be making imminent contact with our faces. I felt like crying.

There was a cluttered crash and a string of swearing that meant Lash was making his way across the room in the dark. I think he'd just found that chair. Suddenly, whilst I was in the middle of wringing my hands, a shaft a metallic, silver light cut across the cement floor, turning everything into half-shadows.

Lash had pulled aside a small curtain hiding a window that led directly onto the street. It was set high in the wall – he'd had to climb on top of the lunch table to reach it – but it was big enough to crawl through. Even as I stared a pair of feet in red high heels clicked past, a skirt swishing after them.

I hurried over as he attempted to crack it open, throwing all his weight against the rusted frame. Behind us were more yells for the spare key.

"Hurry, Lash," I begged, glancing at the still-locked-but-for-how-long door. "Please, hurry!"

The window wasn't budging. Lash definitely wasn't bothering with keeping his voice down now, cursing at it like it was a hundred feet away. In the new light I could see sweat forming on his upper lip.

"Finally!" the voice outside exclaimed. "Bout bloody time one of you got it!"

I had never really paid attention to the sound a key makes when it fits into a lock, until then that is. It's tiny, like mice feet on carpet or something; an invisible click and scrape that means it's all about to come to an end. It was enough to make my blood run cold.

Lash squared his shoulder, jamming it against the window one last time…

It opened.

I could already feel the air on my face. Cars and pedestrians and neon lights. The bad side of town had never been so welcoming! Lash pushed one leg out, throwing a few beer bottles ahead of him. It's nice to think that I rank somewhere below alcohol on his list of things to save. I'll have to make a mental note to never be trapped in a burning building with him.

"Wait!" I cried, seeing that he was about to swing himself completely outside. I grabbed at the table, hoisting myself up, legs coming away sticky where they made contact with my still wet sweater. The door started to open.

For one horrible second I thought Lash was going to slam the window closed in my face, leaving me with a lot of explaining I was nowhere near up to doing. He paused, chewing his lip, brain working furiously. There was no way I'd made it on my own, I wasn't tall enough.

"Lash!" I screamed at him.

He sighed, sticking a hand back in. "Come on, sidekick."

I grabbed it, letting him pull me up and through the window just as a group of bartenders came bursting in. My shins scraped painfully against the sharp pane, and my elbows hit the pavement hard as I landed awkwardly, re-hurting my bruised wrist, but at that moment I didn't care. As my feet slithered out after me I saw Lash, loaded down with beer and money, taking off across the street.

I scrambled up and followed, running as fast as I could. It wasn't fair really; his legs could stretch way longer than mine.

I vaguely recognized his car from all those times I'd seen him in it during the stalking phase. He already had the door open, throwing things in at random, digging frantically through his pockets for his keys. Even as I watched him, he took another swig of beer. I crossed my arms.

"You can't drive!" I informed him. "You've been drinking!"

"Get in the car." He jumped behind the wheel, leaning over to open the passenger side door. I shook my head.

From inside Panic there was a shout that carried across to us and the music suddenly stopped.

"Get in the car RIGHT NOW!" Lash shouted at me.

I slid in wordlessly, pulling the door after me. He'd already taken off, accelerating hard enough to make me clutch frantically at the edge of the seat. I glanced over my shoulder as we speed away; the front doors to Panic were overflowing with bouncers.

I sat back, heart racing. What had just happened? I'd gone to my first (and only) club in the hopes of discovering what a secretly good person Lash was, only to discover that he was even more horrible than I'd imagined! I was an accessory to a crime, I had beer all over my favorite sweater and, worst of all, I probably wasn't going to be home by twelve.

I closed my eyes, hearing nothing but the roar of the engine. I was acutely aware of Lash beside me, but as things were now, I never wanted to see him again. How could I have been so unbelievably stupid! I'd just earned my ride home through petty theft!

Once we hit three blocks away, Lash slowed down, pulling into the curb. He left the motor idling as he turned to me.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Corner of Maple and Fairfield Avenue," I stared straight ahead while I told him, blankly watching the rows of houses with all their normal crime-free residents.

"Right."

We sat there in silence since he made no move to keep driving. The fear was leaving me, being slowly replaced by anger. I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth, feeling my breath coming out in short bursts, hot tears building in the corners of my eyes.

"Green," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Okay now I stared at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "My favorite color. Green."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. A moment later he revved the engine and pulled off, racing through the streets to my house. I just wanted to crawl under my bed and never wake up again. I wanted to forget ever having been bitten by that stupid bug, ever having wanted to be a sidekick. What was the point? I obviously wasn't any good at it, I couldn't even convince my hero to be a hero!

Lash didn't say anything as he stopped outside my house. I half expected him to hand me some money and tell me it was my 'cut' or something. Instead he drummed his fingers on the dashboard as I climbed out and by the time I reached the front porch, he was gone.

My parents were well and truly asleep so I crept up to my room as quietly as possible, pausing only to throw my sweater into the wash. Who cared if my mom saw it and locked me in my room for the rest of my life? I didn't particularly want to leave it anyway.

I kicked off my shoes and lay down on my bed, not bothering to change. My mom had been right all along; I should have just given up. If I was supposed to be a sidekick it would have just happened, instead I'd ruined any chance I might have had. I could only imagine what Principal Powers would have to say about that. No doubt she'd be very disappointed.

That night I dreamt of raging fires again. Only this time, I was holding the lighter.

* * *


	5. Dentistry

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

A/N: A few people have commented on how they're glad this isn't a WarrenOC, so now I'm curious. If you had to choose, who would _you_ go for? Lash or Warren?

And thankyou to everyone who took the time to review! It means a lot so please keep it up! I totally promise that this story is going somewhere...

Five – Dentistry

I stared glumly at the bowl of cereal my dad placed in front of me. I didn't feel much like eating. A large blue butterfly settled on the edge of my spoon, slowly uncurling its wings.

"No insects at the table, honey," dad reminded me, opening his morning paper.

I think the worst part of all this was that we didn't get caught. If there was some kind of retribution maybe I'd be able to live with the knowledge that I'd crossed the law I'd vowed to help maintain. But there was nothing. And Lash was probably soaking it up, thinking that everything was right in the world, congratulating himself on a job well done. Well, at least he'd be happy that he'd managed to finally get rid of me.

"Mornin'," my mom said, coming into the kitchen and bending down to kiss my cheek. "How was last night?" She took note of the uneaten breakfast, the butterfly and my lowered eyes. I could already see the conclusions forming in her mind. "Alissa, what happened?"

"Nothing," I mumbled.

"Alissa," she repeated warningly. Sometimes I sort of wish I had the kind of parents that have no idea. I mean, not that mine are the epitome of golden parenting, but they're not completely in the dark. It makes trying to hide stuff from them a nightmare. Whose dad knows his daughter has her first boyfriend twenty minutes after she gets asked out! Seriously!

"Last night was bad," I explained lamely, brushing the butterfly away and stirring the cereal half heartedly.

They exchanged a look over the top of my head. Here comes that guessing again.

"Aunt Laura's in Mexico…" dad began nervously.

"Is it that boy again?" mom interrupted, squeezing my shoulder, "The one who doesn't like you?"

I think that's the understatement of the year, but I was too tired to even try and explain. "Yes."

She clucked her tongue in an 'I knew it' way. Damn mothers and their intuition!

Dad raised an eyebrow. "There's a boy? Is it Brian?"

I rolled my eyes. Dad loved Brian; I swear when we broke up I actually thought dad was going to adopt him just so he wouldn't lose the closest thing he's ever had to a son. Even the fact that Brian could talk to the goldfish didn't put him off.

"No," mom huffed at him, "it's someone else. Alissa likes him, but he's - "

This had gone on long enough. "I do not like him!" I cried, mentally shuddering at the thought. "He's the biggest jerk in the world and, coincidentally, my assigned hero."

Dad looked slightly puzzled, though he tried to hide it. "Ah. And what does that mean exactly?"

"I'm his hero support," I explained. "Sidekick," I added at his blank look, "well, at least I'm supposed to be. I guess now I'll just end up a dentist."

"But I thought you couldn't wait to be a sidekick?" he glanced over at my mom. "Or did I miss something?"

A lump was threatening to rise in my throat and I fought to push it back down. I didn't want to cry over something so stupid as my entire future. I'd had one dream since I was fourteen, to be the best hero support the world had ever seen. I'd been so determined, so sure that it was _right_. How can one person ruin you so completely? And without even trying!

"Why don't you come into work with us today?" mom suggested with false brightness. "Get out of the house for a bit?"

"Might as well see what the rest of my life is going to be like," I mumbled into my cereal.

"Okay, then!" mom beamed cheerily. She reached down to take the bowl away, seeing that I wasn't going to eat it, as she did she gave a sharp hiss. "Where did you get _that_?" she demanded, pointing at my wrist.

Overnight it had become stiff and sore, with a healthy dose of swelling to go with that bruising. Too late I realised I should have hidden it.

She let out a shrill shriek and grabbed my wrist. "Oh, baby! What happened to you? Was it that _boy_?"

I have never heard anyone able to sum up everything wrong with Lash in one emphasised syllable. It would have been quite impressive if my arm wasn't about to fall off from the pain.

"Ow, mom! Let go!"

She was petting my wrist with the frenzy of a madwowan. I had actually almost forgotten about it, what with everything that had happened, and was disgusted to find that it was now mostly a lovely shade of purple-blue. Who knew Lash was so strong? Just another reason to stay away, I guess.

And that's what I was determined to do. No matter what the front page of my dad's newspaper was saying (giant spiders, downtown) the world just didn't need another hero support. I was going to have to live with that.

OOOO

I was staring out the window, watching the cars go by, whilst a woman with a screaming eight year old repeatedly rang the bell at the desk. The receptionist, Karen, once told me that she likes to keep them waiting. At the time I'd been outraged that even such a small dose of injustice was allowed to exist right under my parents' noses, today I found that it didn't really matter.

Outside everything dazzled under brilliant sunlight. It should have been raining, but that's the weather for you.

I sighed heavily as the door opened and a family of three came in. My mom had bandaged by wrist to the extreme and suggested how 'fun' it might be to hand out the new toothbrushes to all their patients. Fun, indeed. I must just look like the coolest person alive. Ahem.

Karen finally got around to seeing the woman and her screaming child, leading them out of the waiting room for their appointment. I held up a couple of toothbrushes as the family approached the desk.

"Red or blue?" I asked dully, not really looking at any of them.

"Err…" the kid scratched the back of his head. Ah, the choices of dental care.

"Would you like a blue one, Will?" his mother asked, pointing at the toothbrush in question. I glanced up and felt my eyes go about three times bigger.

"I know you," I said, holding out the blue toothbrush. "You're Will Stronghold." And The Commander and Jetstream; I guess even superheros have to go to the dentist.

Will scrunched up his face, obviously trying to work out who I was. I doubted he'd ever get it.

"We went to same school," I explained. "I graduated this year."

Will's father pounced. "Sky High," he nodded, extending a hand to shake mine. "What's your name? What's your power?"

"Um," I shook The Commander's hand, wincing a bit at his grip. "Alissa. I…" I coughed. How exactly do you tell the greatest hero ever that you are maybe the lamest person to ever walk the halls of Sky High? "I make butterflies," I spat out in a rush, hoping he'd mishear me and assume I could turn invisible or something equally cool.

"Oh," he let go. "I mean, oh! Really great!"

"That sounds very interesting," Will's mother interrupted, offering me a warm smile. "So, how do you like the real world?"

It's great, Mrs Stronghold, except for the part where I'm failing at it. "Fine."

I looked at Will. Fifteen and already everybody knew that he would never have a single problem doing what he was best at. His parents were the greatest superheros ever, what door wouldn't just fall open for him? He could sleep soundly at night knowing that the second he graduated the mayor would be all over him. It must be nice. Why couldn't I have been in his grade? I could have been his hero support.

"Dr Daniels will see you now, Mr Stronghold," Karen announced her return, snapping her chewing gum.

The Commander gave his wife a worried glance and I saw her sigh heavily. "We'll go in together if that's alright, Karen. I'm married to the biggest baby in the universe." Mrs Stronghold turned to her son. "Behave yourself in the waiting room, hon."

Will rolled his eyes as his parents left. There was awkward silence as we both stared at his brand new toothbrush.

"So, um," Will cleared his throat loudly, "who did you get paired with?"

I groaned. "Lash."

His jaw dropped. "Was there a short straw or something?"

"It's not funny," I reminded him.

Will hurriedly shook his head. "No, no, I meant that I'm sorry. Man, I can't imagine anyone worse! Except maybe Speed." He paused, mulling this over. "How's it going anyway?"

"Predictably horrible. Apparently Lash doesn't want to be a hero and I can't make him."

I didn't feel like mentioning that I had witnessed him committing a robbery. It wasn't the sort of depth you went into with near strangers.

Will grimaced. "Yikes. Well, if I were you I wouldn't waste my time. If Homecoming's anything to go by he'll probably be in jail by this time next week."

More likely than you could ever imagine, kid. "Tell me about it."

He seemed to suddenly realise that maybe he's lack of confidence was depressing me, because he added, "But, hey, Mr Boy says there's a lot of freelance work out there. That's probably a better way to start, anyway. Then you can choose your own hero."

"I suppose." There're also a lot of people with cavities.

I watched him cast around for a change of topic. "You said that you can make butterflies? What's that like?"

"It's alright. Slightly humiliating, but I guess I'm used to it."

"Is that what your parents can do?"

I shook my head. "No, they're both normal. I got bitten by a bug when I was a kid."

His face lit up. "Cool! I've always wanted to be a radioactive kid!"

Is that what they're calling us these days? Huh. Obviously Will's confused as to exactly how useless butterflies are. I watched Spiderman when it came out just to, you know, compare. Peter Parker definitely got the better deal. Except maybe for the dead uncle bit. Even his transformation was cooler; mine was nowhere near that exciting.

I smiled faintly despite myself. "It's not as fun as it sounds."

"It never is," Will grinned back at me.

"William Stronghold," Karen was back again, "this way please."

"My dad's probably started bawling," Will whispered before turning to follow Karen. I waved after him, thinking hard.

You spend four years at Sky High where they continuously try to suck the fun out of having superpowers and I'm only now just starting to realise that maybe they were on to something after all. Powers just aren't for everyone. Mine were an accident anyway, it's not like I was destined to save the world or anything. It's not like I'm Will Stronghold. What's the difference between a normal citizen and a girl who can sort of do something special? Not much, it turns out.

Had it all been a big joke, me being hero support? Maybe this was Principal Powers' way of letting me know that I didn't have a chance. Instead of just chucking me out first day, she'd let me get a glimpse at the life I could have had, then Lash had closed the door.

I fiddled with the toothbrushes in my hands, letting my eyes fall on the bandage wrapped tightly around my wrist. It stung. Suddenly I just wanted to let loose all the butterflies I could, drown the entire waiting room with them, throw open the door and let them crawl all over Maxville. No one would notice, anyway. No one ever pays much attention to butterflies. Pretty and delicate, harmless and worthless. No one knows what they're good at, not even I do. They are born and they fly and I bet in those moments their whole world is just peachy, everything coming up gold. Then they start to slow, their wings droop and they die a silent death as everything keeps spinning around them as they pass away unnoticed, crushed under feet, snapped up by dogs, choked by pollution. In the end they must realise that everything was stacked against them right from the beginning.

Nothing in their short lives is particularly fair. The only mentionable thing one of them ever did was bite me, and that was probably just a spur of the moment mistake.

I don't feel like a butterfly. I'm clumsy and ugly and I'll never fly. They don't get me anymore than I get them. A butterfly so small it was barely visible crawled over my hands, legs tickling my skin. It took off a moment later, heading straight for the window.

OOOO

As lunch rolled around I got sent off on my bike with explicit instructions not to return unless I was bearing food. A few hours in the dental surgery and I was ready to run away screaming. So much for my future fallback career.

It was so hot that by the time I reached the Maxville mall my shirt was plastered to my back with sweat, my face all red and puffy, hair limp and wet. Its times like this that really make me appreciate air-conditioning. Ah, sweet relief as I stepped through the automatic glass doors! Being the summer holidays, the whole place was packed with kids. I manoeuvred my way around them, heading for the food court. Dad was a sucker for anything covered in sugar (real dentist type that one), and the quickest way to his heart was the bakery.

In retrospect I probably shouldn't be shocked that it would happen. Like I said before, Maxville is not a big city; there are only so many places people can go. The combination of summer weather and boredom send most of them to the mall. But still, I was maintaining the shreds of hope that I would somehow be able to pass through the rest of my life without ever seeing Lash again. The Powers-That-Be really hate me.

He didn't notice me, so I kept walking straight ahead, determined to convince myself that if I wasn't looking at him he wasn't really there. Unfortunately, Speed was with him.

"Hey, Lash!" he appeared at my side in a rush of air, moving so fast he became a blur. "It's your personal loser!"

Was that a step up from sidekick in their books? I couldn't decide so I squared my jaw and continued walking. I was not going to talk to either of them. In fact, I wasn't even going to look at them. I was completely over it. Really.

Speed kept up an easy pace with me, jabbing me in the shoulder the whole time. I guess the whole bully mentality doesn't evaporate just because school's over. Old habits die hard, after all.

"So how did she do last night?" Speed yelled loudly over his shoulder to Lash. I stopped, gasping and flinging a hand over my mouth. People were staring now, and probably interpreting that last line in entirely the wrong way! Speed cackled when he saw my reaction, "Intentional word choice, sidekick."

Lash chose that very opportune moment to make his arrival. Cocking an eyebrow at me he smirked, folding his arms. "Miss me already? Or maybe you need some cash…" his hand itched toward the front pocket of his jeans. I could see a bunch of money sticking out of it. Stolen money. And he was spending it!

That was it. I rounded on him. "You know, I've been trying to decide exactly which part of breaking and entering is more illegal, but I can't. Maybe I should ask the police!"

Lash spread his arms, shrugging carelessly. "Go ahead."

"You'll go to jail!" I practically yelled at him. I was causing a scene, but most of me didn't care at this point. "You're a criminal!"

Speed laughed loudly, drowning out my yells and putting a condescending arm around my shoulders. "You sure are a kidder!" he said loudly, more to the crowd around us than to me.

I shoved him away. It was much harder than it should have been, he was really solid! "Why don't you just rob a bank next time, Lash? I'm sure it'll be much faster!"

"I didn't do anything wrong," Lash maintained cockily.

"Oh, I'm sorry I don't know what kind of crazy transaction system you use, but I'm pretty sure there is no legal way of taking someone else's money!"

Something flashed in his eyes that made me take a step backwards. "You didn't complain last night," he hissed at me dangerously. My mouth fell open. Did he have amnesia? I had done nothing _but_ complain!

"Besides, sidekick," he drawled out the word to mocking point, "you were there, remember? I guess if you turn me in you're going to be sharing a cell with me. But maybe then we can get started on those costumes, right?"

"I hate you!" I have never hated anyone in my life like this; not even Brian! It burned my insides until I felt hollow. It was like physical pain, like something vital was breaking. He could stand there and laugh at everything I held up as important like it meant absolutely nothing! He turned me into a joke, twisted everything with the practised ease of years of tormenting freshmen.

But it was more than that, wasn't it? There was something between shoving a kid in a locker and breaking a safe. Some line that he'd crossed that I wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go back on. School was separated from the real world; somehow the stuff that happened within its walls never carried over into outside life, never held the same weight. You were just a kid in school, just a stupid kid making the most of it. Out here we had suddenly become very real people. And Lash had become a very real kind of bad.

I stalked out of the mall, fists clenched at my sides. If I had thought I never wanted anything to do with Lash this morning that was nothing, _nothing_, to what I was feeling now. A trail of butterflies followed me all the way out.


	6. Freelancing

**Disclaimer:** Nope.

A/N: Thank you, lovely reviewers!

Six - Freelancing

There was a news report about the robbery, of course. I sat still in the living room while my parents watched it, never moving my eyes from the television screen. I skipped dinner and went to bed sick.

OOOO

I had reached an end. The thing about heroism – or rather, about support of said heroism – was the brutal reality that if you were not part of the solution by, say, eight weeks after graduation, there was no point kicking on. Lash was a dead-end, the point in which all my dreams would continue to crumble if I didn't leave him alone. I should have gotten the hint right from the start. I mean, it's not as if he didn't tell me flat out that he wouldn't save the world. I guess I just never knew how much he really meant it until now.

It was useless to dwell on. I couldn't change his mind by sulking anymore than I could by stalking and guilt tripping. It was time to accept the cruel blow I'd been dealt and figure out what to do about it. Like, for example, I _could_ bike down to Lash's house right now with a convoy of cops demanding he hand over the cash in the name of justice and loving thy neighbor. Or, I could find something productive to do.

Productive; like freelance crime fighting.

The roof was extremely high. I had never noticed this before. It's sort of strange, knowing a house for eighteen years and never realizing how incredibly difficult it is to climb. I suppose my parents went through the teenage panic phase whereby all trees near my window were cut down, but shouldn't there at least be a drainpipe or something? It had all seemed much simpler this morning; a nice, straightforward plan to mark the beginning of my nice, straightforward career.

I was going to climb onto the roof and jump.

Better that no one else was home. Acts of self-training can so easily be misinterpreted. The problem was I'd scanned all the freelance ads on the Internet and every single one of them had been the same; decorated superhero seeking _experienced sidekick_ to join elite crime-fighting team. Experienced. The forty thousand no's to the question I hadn't even asked yet; experience.

I didn't _have_ experience. I was fresh out of high school, stranded without a hero, and facing my final chance at becoming a sidekick. I wasn't about to let a little lack of experience stand in the way of what I'd been taught to become. I wanted to help people, to save them, and if I had to jump off the roof to do it, well, everyone knows crime fighting power teams are all about self-sacrifice.

Of course, I hadn't counted on the lack of either convenient trees or drainpipes, or on the sudden vertigo that swooped into my stomach from just looking up at the roof. I was standing on the front porch, frowning slightly, hoping passer-by's wouldn't think me too suspicious. The last thing I needed was to be arrested and have to confess to planning on jumping. Again, serious misinterpretation could come into play there.

But how on Earth was I going to get up there? Teenagers did it all the time, apparently, so why did it suddenly seem so difficult?

There was logic to this plan, however unlikely that may seem. It makes sense that a superhero would want someone who jumped first and asked questions later, and in most cases that probably meant literally. So I was going to do just that. Jump first, ask questions about my freelance career later. Foolproof. Except for the part were I was starting to feel sick.

Pushing aside the gnawing thought that I was about to have a close contender for the worst idea in my life, I examined my goal.

If I couldn't climb up from the ground I would have to adapt. Improvisation is key to getting out of tricky situations. I should know; I wrote an essay about it once.

I glanced thoughtfully at the nearest second-storey window. It opened up from my parents' bedroom, wide enough to climb through and high enough that I would probably be able to grab onto the guttering if I stretched a bit. I hurried back inside, racing upstairs. It was important to get it over with before I lost my nerve completely.

Throwing open the shutters I willed myself not to look down as I unlatched the lock and pulled the top pane up. Despite craning my neck I couldn't see the edge of the gutter as I'd hoped. No backing out now. Fighting the urge to close my eyes, I gripped the sill and stuck my whole head and shoulders out, looking up. I could see it now, just. Up here it didn't hang over as much as I'd assumed it would on the ground and I found myself chewing anxiously on my lower lip.

I was hesitating, and it wasn't good. Every second spent staring above me was another second of wild, half-formed visions of falling to my death. Breaking my neck as I hit the porch and bounced off seemed quite popular.

No. I forced the image out of my head. I wasn't some teenage girl climbing onto the roof because a boy at school didn't like her. I was hero support. I faced stuff like this all the time – theoretically, at least – and I was braver for it.

Cheered on by my internal pep talk I pulled my head back in, pushed the window as far open as it would go and swung my left leg up and over the sill. I could do this. Absolutely nothing would happen to me. I was going to be fine. Bracing my hands against the frame, I followed with my other leg until they were both hanging out over the front wall of the house. Perfectly fine.

The next part was trickier. I had to simultaneously prop my feet up on the sill and twist my upper body until I was facing the house. Then it was a simple matter of grabbing the gutter and hurling myself up. Once I was safely up I'd start thinking about getting down.

Hardly breathing I edged my legs up until I was squatting uncomfortably on fifteen inches of painted wood, wishing that my mother had been a fan of window boxes. I bird-stepped carefully, shuffling the smallest of distances at a time to turn around and, with my back to the street, I stood up.

Okay, the gutter was up there, I could reach it. I tentatively let one hand drop away from it's vice grip on the window and reached, fingers brushing helplessly short of their destination. But I was too close to give up now. Throwing away all sense, I raised up onto my tiptoes, stretching out my arm…

I caught onto the gutter and, grinning, swung my other arm up. Piece of cake.

Unfortunately I hadn't counted on the part where I have no upper body strength. As I threw my weight upwards, fully expecting my arms to simply yank me to safety, my feet lost contact with the window sill, only I didn't launch up onto the roof as I'd anticipated. I hung there. Completely stuck. I waved my legs around uselessly, trying to feel my way back to the security of the window, hoping I'd be able to just drop back inside and pretend none of this ever happened.

It was about this time I realized I was in trouble. Serious trouble. Closed casket-like trouble. I finally closed my eyes.

I had no idea what to do. If I had a useful power I could have saved myself. Actually, if I had a useful power I probably wouldn't have had to jump off a roof to prove myself in the first place, but that's beside the point. I mean, what could I do? Make enough butterflies to carry me to safety? Even if I could do that, I don't have a clue how to communicate with them. They'd just fly off.

There was really only one option at this point; I started screaming.

Retired Mr O' Conner from next door was first on the scene. I could hear him yelling both at me to hang on and at his wife to call the fire department. I was screaming for my life, that my arms hurt, that if someone didn't come up and get me within the next five seconds I was going to fall. Mr O' Conner, sounding extremely terrified, told me to calm down and not do anything stupid.

"I'm not _jumping_!" I shrieked at him, "I'm _falling_!"

"I'll come up and try to pull you through the window!" he dashed across our front lawn and rattled the door handle. Sensible me had locked it, of course.

"You need a blanket to catch her," Mrs O' Conner, who had joined us, called out helpfully.

"Get me down! Get me down!" My arms were in agony, fingers and knuckles blotched red and white from the effort of holding myself up. The gutter was digging painfully into the bruise on my wrist. If I slipped… Tears were welling up in my eyes and I was starting to choke on my sobs. "Help me, please!"

Mrs O' Conner tutted. "She's going to fall."

More neighbors were arriving, I could hear the O' Conners filling them in on what was happening as if this was some sort of show they'd missed the first act of.

"Don't jump, Alissa," someone yelled, "Whatever's troubling you, we can work it out together."

I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life. This even beats the time my dad turned up to parent-teacher night with a Batman mask. Everyone in the entire neighbourhood is going to shout affirmations at me until I either fall or am rescued, in which case they will then proceed with more affirmations about the joy of living life un-airborne until I am carted off in an ambulance to listen to why I-failed-at-jumping-off-a-roof stories. It's difficult to say which would be worse.

And speaking of worse…

"Sidekick, as flattering as it is to assume that this is all for me, what exactly do you think hanging off the side of your house is going to accomplish?"

I must be hallucinating, because I could have sworn I just heard Lash. Which is, of course, impossible. Because Lash is currently tormenting small puppies and stealing money from those stores that sell Christmas decorations and way too busy being mean elsewhere to bother being mean here.

"Because if you flatten yourself across the pavement how will you ever get around to sewing me a costume?"

Was he trying to use some bizarre reverse psychology? "Lash, I am going to die because I have no hero support experience!" I'm not even sure he could understand me, my voice was way beyond the realms of hysterical at this point. I was screaming and crying and begging all at once. "I can't jump first and ask questions later! I can't even scale a wall!"

If he responded I didn't hear. At that moment a fire truck pulled up, siren blaring, and amid all the noise and sudden chaos everything else was drowned out. I heard the ladder extending against the wall, moving in slow motion, wondering how I was going to make my hands stay put for just a few more moments. And then there was a voice in my ear, hands around my waist and I was being lifted and carried down to safety, still crying.

The ambulance was against the curb just like I'd known it would be and a new emotion crept in; relief. I had done something so incredibly stupid I was never going to forgive myself, but I had survived it. I had held onto physical strength that I hadn't even realized I owned. Now there was something else; the tiniest hint of pride. It was quickly squashed under a fresh wave of tears as I was lain down on a stretcher.

Lash's face peered incredulously down at me, shaking his head. "Are you trying to prove that you can be a hero on your own, or what? Because there's a reason everyone knows sidekicks aren't heroes; it's true."

"I don't have anything to prove," I snapped, "especially to _you_."

He didn't answer, just smirked. I wanted to hit him, but someone was taking my blood pressure.

"Is there something you want from me, Lash?" I suddenly felt very flat.

"Actually, yes. I wasn't just in the neighborhood to watch you attempt to fly, I have something to tell you."

I blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"I have something to tell you," he repeated.

"I didn't mean – " I cut myself off, exasperated. "What is it?"

He suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. "Now, I'm not sorry, okay? So don't go getting any ideas that this is one of those apology things. I don't feel bad that I tricked you, or hurt you, or made you cry."

"Then why are you even here?"

"Because… because you left this behind that day you came to my house," he held up the crime fighting application form. I remembered dropping it in his doorway, discouraged that my guilt trip plan hadn't worked.

"And you wanted to give it back?"

"No! I mean," he ran a hand through his hair, "I don't care that you lost it and I don't care that it's yours, I just… don't want it in my house."

I took the form mutely as Lash was pushed aside by a paramedic. It was scrunched and partly torn, but still in one piece. It could still be filled out and sent to the Mayor. Well, maybe I'd have to photocopy it first, but it was legible. I didn't know what that meant. My head was beginning to hurt.

They opened the ambulance doors and started wheeling me in, explaining that I needed to be checked over and my parents had to be called and all sorts of questions had to be asked and answered. I couldn't hear them. I was listening to something else.

_I just don't want it in my house_. Maybe it wasn't enough to have me so angry that I never wanted to see him again. Maybe, like the form, it was better to be rid of me completely. Because something was dawning on me, something I should have realized right away.

"You could have saved me," I said through the curtain of paramedics. Lash, who didn't want to save the world, didn't even try to help me when I was falling. Who had superpowers and hadn't moved an inch when he'd heard me screaming for my life. Nothing, apparently, moved him. There was no pity or justice, no conscious to speak of. There was only Lash and what he wanted right at that moment. A self-driven need to purge what should have been a source of guilt, but was only an annoyance, out of his life.

But he had done nothing. It didn't have to mean something, it didn't have to mean that he was destined to be Superman and give everything of him to help the entire world, or even just help Maxville. It should have been a reflex. But he had done nothing. That he was fazed by the prospect of an apology, but not by standing idly by while he could have done something, would have taken care of any doubt I might have had that he would one day change his mind. As it was, I was beyond doubt.

"You could have saved me," I repeated.

I saw him shrug. "Probably," he replied.

I lay back, letting the paramedics shut the doors behind me. I can guess what they're thinking, because I know how this must look to people on the outside of Sky High. They'll ask me if I'm depressed, ask my parents if there have been any changes in my behavior. They'll want to know what I think about, what I do during the days, what I dream when I go to sleep. And eventually it'll come up that, yes, I have been quiet lately, I have been anxious and tired and talking about failure. My mother will talk about the bruise she found on my arm and my dad, awkward in his straight-backed plastic chair, will mention that there was some boy or something. I imagine they'll think Lash will have quite a lot to do with it. And he does. He's ruined everything.

And everyone kept suggesting freelance as if it was the solution to my problem. My problem goes way beyond that. My problem is a criminal that was given a second chance he didn't deserve. Principal Powers should have locked him up along with Royal Pain, done us all a huge favor. My problem is that I will never be hero support to anyone. My problem is that I am thoroughly ordinary.

But I won't be going down without a fight.


	7. Payback

Seven – Payback

It is a little known fact that the rate of justice emulation is directly proportional to one's ability to bend both arms towards the hips. If one arm were, say, in a sling and unable to perform the correct hand-to-hip bending action the general sense of heroic sacrifice and unbeatable crime stoppability is at approximately zero. I know this because the bouncer of Panic won't let me in. Also, there was a question on it in midterms.

I'd done a lot of thinking during my mandatory twenty four hour hospital observation. My parents had only been allowed to see my briefly and despite my mom mentioning several times that I was never leaving my room again, I'd come up with a plan. I know what you're thinking. I've come full circle, right? I mean, here I am once again outside Panic with thoughts of confronting Lash running through my head. But I am far from getting to know him now. No. I know exactly who he is. And I know exactly what I'm going to do about it.

The thing was I'd had twenty four hours to stare at the blank form in my hands. Twenty four hours with nothing to do but try to ignore the pain in my arms and think about what had happened to my dreams of being the best hero support ever. It had been obvious, really, when my brain got down to it. I wanted to be hero support and Lash wanted to steal money. That's okay. It was his decision to make, after all, and even if I thought I could ever change his mind I'm not sure I'd want to anyway.

I guess this is what I was supposed to do all along.

Although maybe the baseball cap and mask were optional.

The bouncer was shaking his head as I tried to ignore the growing line of impatient people behind me. Honestly, who comes to a club at five in the afternoon unless they're on hero support business?

"But I don't want to stay," I jiggled from foot to foot, wishing for the millionth time that I didn't have to wear the stupid sling, "I just need to speak with the manager. It won't even be - "

"Beat it," the bouncer cut over me, jerking his thumb towards the street.

"Please," I continued, narrowly avoiding being trampled by a woman in thigh high boots as she pushed rudely past me. "It's about the robbery last week. I know who did it! I can lead you straight to him!" I tried to push my ID into his hands. "I can - "

"You can what?" he interrupted again with a snort, "Listen, I don't know what kind of a trip you're on, kid, but you have to take it somewhere else, get it? Otherwise you'll need to find yourself another sling."

I squared my shoulders. I knew the hat had been a bad idea. "Are you telling me," I tried to make my voice as cold and authoritative as possible, "that you are going to ignore the pursuit of justice? I have information that will help you catch the criminal responsible for robbing your place of employment. And… and… " I wavered as he continued shaking his head, "and I'm trying to help!"

The last bit came out in a desperate rush of breath, so I wasn't even sure he'd heard me correctly. He did look me up and down again, taking in my face – which was obscured by both hat and extremely cheap mask – the jeans and shirt I'd pulled on over the hospital gown in a rush and the sling keeping my sprained wrist in check. I had a pretty good idea that I looked like I'd escaped from somewhere with cages, but wasn't exactly in the mood to care. I was going to lose my nerve any second now. I could already feel it starting to slip away from me.

"Please," I said again, managing to choke back the 'citizen' I was desperate to add, "let me handle this. I'm a hero."

Never mind that my mind was screaming _support_ at the top of its metaphorical lungs, as far as this bouncer needed to know I did this sort of thing all the time. Well, hopefully he hadn't seen too many heroes and wasn't expecting me to back that statement up with some sort of rhyming catchphrase and a spontaneous flight takeoff.

He was still scrutinising me, eyebrow raised, shaking his head as if crazy kids tried to pull this one all the time. Although if they do I doubt they have to keep sliding their masks back up.

After an indeterminable amount of time, during which I was sure the bouncer was about to live up to his threat of putting me in another sling, he grabbed my ID and waved me through.

Despite knowing what to expect this time around, Panic still threw me off. It was earlier and definitely quieter than the only other time I had set foot in this place. A couple of early-evening patrons were milling around the bar and a few security guards were helping an extremely skinny man lug a pair of massive speakers onto the stage. If I had felt out of place before in my Mary Jane's and pink sweater that was nothing – _nothing_ – to what I felt now. I mean at Sky High you know that one day you are going to be patrolling the streets in a costume where people can see you, but it's a completely different thing to practice ducking while peering out of tiny eyeholes in all manner of ridiculous headwear and to actually be standing in public in a mask.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I was doing what I had been taught to do. This could well be the defining moment that stupid radioactive butterfly had foreseen when choosing to bite me. If, you know, butterflies could think, let alone foresee.

_Okay, Alissa_, _this is your chance to do what's right_.

Doing my best to look like I was completely comfortable with the situation, I headed over to the bar. A few people glanced at me over their drinks, but generally they ignored me. Gripping the top of the bar, trying to tell myself that it wasn't to hold myself up, I cleared my throat to get the attention of the nearest bartender and pretended I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this close to this particular bar.

"Um, what…?" the bartender started to ask uncertainly, looking from my mask and baseball cap to her hands and back again, "I mean, I'll need to see some ID."

"Actually I'd like to speak with the manager." She blinked at me and, feeling like I should say something else I added, "It's about the robbery."

The bartender blinked again. I hoped she didn't think this was some bizarre attempt at robbery itself or a way to drink underage.

"I don't want to drink any alcohol," I said quickly.

She added a small cough to her next blink. "Okay, the manager is it? I guess I'll… well, I'll just go get him." She paused and I could see her fingers drumming rapidly on the edge of the bar. "Kid," she leant over, hair falling into her eyes as she dropped her voice to a whisper, "take the mask off. It's weird."

I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat as she left, actually glad in that moment the mask was there. At least no one could see how red my face was getting.

This was ridiculous. What was I doing here? I wasn't a hero, I wasn't even really a sidekick. I had never thought I'd have to march into a situation like this alone. I'd always imagined my hero, whoever they were, would do most of the talking and thwarting evil and I'd just sort of stand back and make sure their cape didn't get tangled in anything. Despite what every kid in hero class thinks, not everyone in hero support dreams of the spotlight. Most of us are perfectly content in providing good, solid backup.

Besides, I really wasn't hero material. Everyone at Sky High knew that, I knew that, even my parents who think the greatest threat to mankind is enamel wear knew their daughter wasn't really cut out to scale buildings in the pursuit of a raging villain. I was definitely Robin material. Hey, I even liked riding in those little motorbike side carriage things!

So, again, what was I doing here?

Before I could answer that question the bartender returned with a man I assumed to be the manager in tow.

"What's this about a robbery?" he asked before I even had a chance to open my mouth and blurt out some quasi-hero line. Good thing too, because it probably would have started with 'citizen.'

"Ah, yeah," I squeaked. I cleared my throat and started again. "The one last week? I know who was responsible for it."

The manager peered at me and I knew he was trying to see past the mask to my face. I self-consciously pulled the baseball cap a little lower. A horrible thought was occurring to me. It involved CCTV and my face plastered on hidden security footage as Lash dragged me into his short-lived crime spree. Was it horrible to be wishing half of the supposed criminal team would get away scot-free?

"Really? And who might that be?"

"Um." I suddenly found myself floored. Should I ask about security cameras? Should I give myself up and offer to make a deal with the DA in exchange for a good behavior bond? "Do - "

Before the syllable was every fully out of my mouth a voice interrupted;

"Come on, sidekick, don't leave us in the dark. Who was it?"

My mouth turned very dry and suddenly there wasn't quite enough air in the club. The patrons had left their drinks and turned to watch the unfolding show now, and I could see the confusion on the manager's face starting to mix with a heaping dose of irritation. I'm sure I could see his lips moving as he said something - probably not very nice - to me. But all I could hear was the sudden roar of blood in my ears as my heart pounded madly in the beginnings of a panic attack.

Very slowly I turned around.

Lash was grinning at me. And it didn't matter that I was wearing the stupid mask. He could see right through it. I mean, it was obvious, wasn't it? Who else would be storming in here to turn him in? Although, quite obviously, he had a lot to say about the matter before any turning in could occur.

"Las - "

He cut me off again, "And how do you know who it was? Were you present at the time of this robbery?" His voice was full of mock-concern and I wanted to hit him. What was he doing here? How could he even stand in this place and act like it was just another day in his life after what he had done? Wasn't he even the least bit afraid of being caught?

Clearly he wasn't, else he wouldn't be smirking so confidently down at me. He knew what I was here to do. For all I knew he had come to do the same to me. But, as I glared at him through the eyeholes, watching the way he folded his arms and made no move to stop me, I realized he didn't think I could actually do it.

I squared my shoulders, ignoring the protesting twinge from my sprained wrist. He obviously had no idea what hero support meant. If nothing else, I wasn't about to lose my ground. He could leave me to hang onto a roof for my life, leave me to fall, I didn't care. But he would never second-guess my hero support capabilities.

Only now he was glancing significantly at the hospital gown peaking out beneath my jacket, grinning ear to ear like a dog that – through no hard work on its part – has managed to stumble upon a rabbit already caught in a trap. I had a feeling I was the rabbit.

"Escape again?" he asked in a drawl.

I grit my teeth, clenching my good hand into a fist. I turned back to the manager who looked like he very much wanted to start shouting at somebody. The situation was very quickly slipping through my fingers, and I tried desperately to grab at it before it got away altogether.

I'm sure I intended to say something that would both sooth his growing concern that I was indeed supposed to be in some sort of institution and inform him of the burglary culprit. Instead what came out was something that sounded a little bit like 'uh wellah but'.

The manager held up a hand to stop me. "Three seconds," he said in a very low voice, "to explain what the hell is going on here before I have you thrown out. Both of you," he added, shifting his gaze to encompass Lash.

From the corner of my eye I could see Lash's shoulders rise as he took a breath to no doubt discredit me further. I beat him to it.

"It was him!" I pointed.

The manager, the bartender and the patrons who had now abandoned their drinks altogether all turned as one to stare at Lash. I glowed. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt like this and, as it washed over me, I realized I couldn't understand why. This was what made it all worthwhile, this feeling, like a fire in your chest that burned bright enough to outshine any self-doubt or pity or second guessing you had. It was contagious. Catching the rest of you alight until every inch of you burned brighter than you ever had before as you itched to climb out of your skin and into the next good deed.

Lash, meanwhile, looked less like he was battling with the internal fire of justice and more like he was being slowly cornered.

"Him," I repeated, just in case there had been any misunderstanding the first time.

I'm not quite sure what I expected Lash to do next. Maybe hang his head a little in shame. In retrospect I should have seen it coming.

He ran.

There was something close to silence as we all watched him bolt his way through the front door, earning a half-hearted shout from the bouncer. I couldn't move. The fire had started burning itself out, leaving me hollow. I looked helplessly at the manager.

"I think," he started to say before seeming to reconsider, shake his head and walk away from me. I could see the growing pity in the bartender's eyes.

Something began to shape itself in the rubble that had been left in the fire's wake. Something vast and quick and full of an anger that made me clamp my mouth shut lest it escape. I took a stumbling step forward, then another and another and before I knew what I was doing I was tearing out of Panic and down the sidewalk after Lash.

I had no idea where I was going. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear the yells as I pushed past people. There was a roar in my head that had nothing to do with blood this time as my hands suddenly felt weak with the need to throw something very heavy against a wall until it broke.

I became aware of a pounding that was my feet against the pavement and, next thing I knew, I could hear my own voice screaming itself raw. There were no words at first, just sound born on frustration and fury. Though they gradually began to form themselves into something a bit more legible.

"Lash!"

I rounded a corner. He was nowhere in sight. Of course, he was much faster than I was even without the head start. There wasn't really much of a chance that I would catch up to him and…

And what? Tackle him?

I pushed aside the beginnings of common sense in favor of the anger. I didn't want to deal with any thoughts now. I just needed to feel the press of pavement beneath my shoes, the way the baseball cap was slipping from my head.

"Lash!" I shouted again.

I ignored the crowd that was beginning to gather. He could be anywhere by now, especially if he'd used his power to get away. I looked up, craning my neck to see the tops of the high rise buildings lining the street. Seemed like a pretty good place to hide.

"You coward!" I yelled at the nearest building, "You hear me? You're nothing but a wannabe villain! You don't even deserve your powers!"

The anger nodded in agreement, rearing up to meet my yells with a roar of its own. I continued running, not even bothering to stop when the cap flew off my head completely, sending my hair streaming out behind me with every step I took. All I knew was that somewhere very deep down, hidden beneath the anger and the sheltering voice of reason, a part of me knew what I had said was true. Lash didn't deserve his powers. Someone else did.

"And are your parents _proud_ of you?" I continued, screaming up at the buildings I passed, down the alleys crowded with shadows, "Are they proud how you use their powers?" I thought of Peter, so polite and neat, who had glanced sideways at me like I was a criminal when I'd had the audacity to look at a photograph he had put on display. "Although I guess it could run in the family!"

I had said this last part more to myself, without thinking, and the next thing I knew I had been grabbed from behind and pushed roughly against the nearest window display. I had the vague notion of a sea of tables lit by tiny red lanterns behind the glass before I was turned sharply around and found myself face to face with Lash. He was very, very angry.

And I knew, right then and there, without even having to think too hard about it, I knew I was going to regret the words that were pushing themselves desperately out of my mouth. When all this was over, when the anger had faded and the shame of having made such a scene set in, I was going to wish I had been able to keep my mouth shut. But I couldn't stop myself. The image of that beautiful woman's face flashed out at me and I grabbed at it.

"Is that what it is, Lash?" I shoved against him, pushing him away from me, "Mommy issues? Have something to prove? Because if you think - "

He stumbled backwards against the shove, momentarily caught off guard enough to lose his balance. When he righted himself he stepped towards me again, teeth bared as if he would actually bite me or something and the words caught, tangling themselves around my tongue.

"Tell me!" Lash roared, "Go on! Tell me how I have to go and save the world! Let's go rescue the citizens of Maxville and if we're real lucky we'll get ourselves blown up!"

He lashed out and I only just managed to duck out of the way as his hand went through the window behind me. The glass shattered instantly against the impact, spraying the sidewalk with sharp, glimmering shards.

I stared at the space where the window had been, pressing a hand against my mouth. There were people inside, sitting at the tables, eating dinner, telling their children to behave themselves. They all stared back at me.

"Oh my God," I breathed, looking at Lash. He was standing very still, staring dully down at his bleeding hand. "You tried to hit me!" I managed to blurt out before a voice from inside the restaurant began shouting at us.

"Run," Lash suggested.

Too shocked to listen to the little voice of justice telling me to help clean up and offer to pay for half the damages – because, in a right world, Lash would pay for the other half… oh, who am I kidding? I'd pay for the whole damn thing! – I followed him. It was close to fully dark by now, the streetlights starting to come on as we ran. I chanced a quick glance back. Several people were standing around the ruined window, with more streaming from the restaurant. Under the glowing sign announcing that the place was called The Paper Lantern, I saw that none of them looked particularly pleased with us as with fled.

Lash led me through several blocks of faceless buildings. At every turn I expected to be stopped by police, but there was nobody. I could hear my heart pounding in my head and it was completely different from the way I had run after him before. The anger had completely left in the face of what had just happened. I couldn't even remember clearly what it had felt like. It was like stumbling through a dream. Every step felt too heavy, too slow, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't keep up with his steady pace.

At last he stopped in a narrow alleyway crammed with overflowing dumpsters nestled between two shops full of darkened windows. Panting, covered in sweat, my sprained wrist throbbing with pain, I slid down along the bricked wall, not caring how dirty I got. I ripped the stupid mask off my face and threw it blindly away from me.

It was several minutes before I realized Lash was staring at me.

"What?"

"I suppose there's no easy way to ask this, so I'll just throw it at you. What's your name?"

I blinked. It's moments like this that really put your life in perspective. I mean, I'd known Lash for, what? Four years? We'd gone to the same school, he'd made my life miserable for a good portion of that time and, basically, he'd just said that I was so much of a loser no one remembered my name. Way to make a girl feel special.

"Alissa," I said weakly, closing my eyes and I leant my head back against the wall, "It's Alissa."


End file.
